


...is a virtue

by orphan_account



Category: Kuroshitsuji | Black Butler
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-11-05
Updated: 2010-11-05
Packaged: 2017-10-13 01:47:15
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,393
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/131452
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>I wrote this a couple of years ago and forgot about it, but I've sort of gotten back into the series lately and I'm dusting it off.  I still can't believe I'm posting something with an underage warning.  It's mild, at least, nothing explicit, so I can still retain *some* measure of my dignity.</p><p>Set during/just after manga Chapter 29, as that was current when I lost my mind and decided to write this.</p>
            </blockquote>





	...is a virtue

          Sebastian tucked the cool, freshly starched sheets beneath his master's chin and brushed a damp lock of hair away from his eyes. “The fever seems much better after your bath, Young Master,” the demon whispered with a smile. For a moment, his thoughts wandering and lost in the fog of illness, Ciel even thought it might have been genuine.  
 

          The butler straightened up from the bed, suit sharply pressed, a new pair of brilliantly white gloves concealing the truth. Ciel blinked, his eyelids heavy despite all protestations to the contrary. Watching the demon's retreating form, he remembered another night, not so very long ago. Another request that his servant had faithfully obeyed.  
 

          “Sebastian,” he called weakly, pushing himself up against the pillows. The butler gently but firmly ushered the prince and his attendant from the room, closing the door behind them. The tone in his master's cracked and broken voice told him clearly that this conversation was not to be overheard.  
 

          “Yes, my lord?” he answered, returning to kneel at the boy's side.  
 

          “You disobeyed me.”  
 

          The demon blinked. “Young Master, by the terms of our contract, I can do nothing to endanger your life. I -”

           
           “That isn't what I meant.” Ciel's voice was cool and even as he threw back the covers. “I know very well what is written in our contract. It's clear to me that once Agni pointed out the error of your ways, you were forced to tend to my illness before proceeding with my assigned orders.”  
 

          Sebastian suppressed his amusement. It was always fascinating to watch his master rearrange reality to suit his wounded pride.  
 

          “You never visited the Heraldry College of Arms, did you?” Ciel slid a finger beneath the bandage, shifting it upwards to reveal the sigil engraved on his right eye. “Answer me.”  
 

          “I returned to you with the information you tasked me to recover,” Sebastian answered evasively.  
 

          “Ah, but that wasn't what I asked.” He threw his legs over the side of the bed, facing the kneeling demon at eye level.  
 

          “Do you doubt its veracity? Or is it my methods you've decided to question after all this time?”  
 

          “When you came back - “ Ciel began, the certainty leaking from his tone. “When you woke me, this morning, you...” He bit his lip, a flush of color staining otherwise livid cheeks.  
 

          Sebastian tilted his head. “Did you wonder how I managed to soil my gloves at an office of records?” he offered, a slight smirk playing about his lips. Ciel's blush deepened, but he said nothing. “I encountered the shinigami just after leaving the medical tent,” he explained. “He did not intend to allow me passage through the camp; obviously, I was under orders to do just that. In the ensuing struggle - “  
 

          “You fought him?” Ciel interrupted, shocked.  
 

          “Only briefly, Young Master.” Sebastian reassured him. “My gloves were bloodied. Actually, only the right glove was damaged, but I thought it somewhat foolish to wear just the one.”  
 

          Ciel studied the pattern in the rug intently, worrying his lower lip. “That may be true, Sebastian, but this morning, your hands smelled like...like...”  
 

          “Like sex?” The demon supplied, watching with unconcealed delight as his master's eyes squeezed shut in embarrassment.  
 

          “Yes,” Ciel muttered, his voice barely audible. The flush had begun to creep down his neck and below his open collar. “You are under contract to me, demon!” he lashed out, finding his voice in a pocket of latent fury. “You obey _my_ orders! Who said you could – what gave you the right to – something like that!”  
 

          “My, my,” Sebastian murmured, one gloved finger tracing a slow path down his master's feverish cheek. “Could you possibly be jealous?”  
 

          Ciel jerked his head up, pushing himself indignantly to his feet at the accusation. “Jealous?” he wheezed. “What a ridiculous - “  
 

          The rebuttal dissolved abruptly into a fit of violent coughs, wracking his slender frame. The world spun dizzily as his knees buckled beneath him and a strong, steady arm wrapped around his waist. He slumped forward against the demon as breath slowly returned, filling his lungs one desperate gasp at a time. Sebastian cradled his shaking form, one hand gently stroking his master's back while the other combed through his silky hair.  
 

          “I - “ he stammered when the capacity for words returned. “Perhaps...I was, just a little.”  
 

          Sebastian let out a long, slow breath, allowing his hand to travel further with each caress down the boy's spine. The vibrant flux of emotions rising from his soul made the demon's mouth water; confusion, adoration, anger, _lust_. How much longer did he need to simmer before he could be consumed? Any other day, he might have let it go. Any other day, when his nature had not risen so close to the surface. Only a fool would believe that the simple fare of the night before had left him sated.

          Only the one who bore his mark; only the one fated to live and die in his deadly embrace could ever accomplish such a thing.  
 

          “Sebastian,” Ciel breathed, the name like a blasphemous prayer on his lips. The demon's fingers slipped beneath his nightshirt, raised the fabric ever so slowly to stroke the sensitive skin beneath.  
 

          “Ah...”  
 

          A crash sounded against the door, rattling the heavy oaken panel in its frame. A squeal echoed across the empty hallway; a nervous shuffling preceded the hesitant squeak of the hinges. “Master Ciel?” A feminine voice intruded upon the silence. “Master Agni thought you might want some tea, so I -”  
 

          “ _Master_ Agni?” Ciel queried, incredulous. “Are you mad? Agni is a servant to Prince Soma, as Sebastian is to me.” The demon blinked, unable to believe the transformation that had taken place in the space of an instant. No longer the child, no longer his victim, Ciel was once again lord and master of the Phantomhive Estate. His master...

          Sebastian lowered his head, forced the hunger to recede. _There will be time, there will be time._

          “Y-yes, of course, Master Ciel. Forgive my mistake.” The bumbling maid pushed her cart across the floor, wheels shrieking for oil, dishes rattling as if to wake the dead.  
 

          “Sebastian, stop your fussing, you can mend that shirt tomorrow.” Ciel gently removed his butler's hands from the tail of his nightshirt, eyes blank and unfocused. “Thank you, Maylene. It was very thoughtful of you to make tea.” He gave a slight cough and sat back on the bed, sinking into the brace of pillows with a barely audible sigh.  
 

          Sebastian wondered, rising smoothly to his feet, when the boy had managed to slide the eyepatch back into place. The flush had deserted his cheeks; he looked every inch the invalid he was supposed to be. Yes, Sebastian thought, his master was a fascinating study; in suffering, in manipulation, in control.  
 

          “That will be all, Maylene,” The butler added, dismissing her with a nod of his head. She slipped through the door in a swirl of skirts and was thankfully gone, without so much as a broken teacup in her wake.  
 

          “That won't be necessary,” Ciel interrupted from the bed as his butler lifted the teapot to inspect its contents.  
 

          “Tea would be good for your throat, Young Master. After all that coughing - “  
 

          “I don't want any,” Ciel snapped. Sebastian chuckled in the sudden silence.  
 

          “I'll have a fresh pot of the Jackson's Earl Grey ready for you when you wake,” he promised. Ciel settled in amongst the pillows, eyes sliding shut against inevitable fatigue. Tucking the sheet back under his master's chin, Sebastian reached out to brush away that perpetually errant strand of hair and paused, thinking better of it. His hand hovered in the air for a moment before falling to his side.  
 

          _Time, yet, for a hundred indecisions._ It was a rare day, when a human – an insect, their frenzied lives over in the blink of an eye - had something to teach. He would put this aside, for a time.

          After all, there was work to be done.

  


 

_Time for you and time for me,_

_And time yet for a hundred indecisions,_  

 

_And for a hundred visions and revisions,_  

_Before the taking of a toast and tea._  
♦  
_And indeed there will be time_   
_To wonder, “Do I dare?”_

 

*Stanzas at the end are from "The Love Song of J. Alfred Prufrock," by T.S. Eliot.


End file.
